


Parabatai

by abbieroad



Category: Infernal Devices Series - Cassandra Clare
Genre: Herongraystairs, I Had To, Post-Clockwork Princess, Wessa, heronstairs, im sorry, jessa - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-29
Updated: 2015-04-29
Packaged: 2018-03-26 07:06:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3841666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abbieroad/pseuds/abbieroad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You hear that, James Carstairs? We are bound, you and I, over the divide of death, down through whatever generations may come. Forever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Parabatai

Silent brothers don’t sleep. It was a small fact, probably a footnote in the Codex, but it was one of the hardest things for Jem to accept. One of the biggest things he felt himself struggling with. An eternal silence without any breaks to take a breath. Dreams were distortions of reality, parallel universes that you were able to visit for a night, and Jem would never be able to visit them again, even if Will and Tessa lived within them. 

Just because he couldn’t sleep didn’t mean that he didn’t dream. His mind wandered more than most of Silent Brothers’ probably did, but he wouldn’t know. He didn’t ask. He always dreamed of Tessa, how she was out there somewhere with her nose in a book and that spark of intelligence in her eyes. He dreamed of Will, his faded _parabatai_ rune a constant reminder of the rope that tethered them, bound them together still. He sometimes let his mind slip back to fighting beside Will, drawing power from him, feeling him. When they fought together it was like a dance that they knew better than they knew themselves.

But time has made his memories hazy. He couldn’t recall the exact shades of blue that decorated Will’s eyes, or the rhythm of Will’s breathing in sync with his own. The only reason he could easily remember Tessa was due to their yearly meetings on the bridge. The bridge. It was the one light he could look forward to in the world of darkness of the Silent City.

 

He missed the violin. When he wasn’t thinking of Jem or Tessa or Charlotte or Henry or even the Lightwoods, he was thinking of his violin. He could almost feel the strings vibrating on his fingertips, and sometimes he thought he heard the yearning sound of the instrument somewhere deep in the silent. But he knew that couldn’t be. They didn’t play music.

 

—

 

When Jem saw Tessa that day, he almost felt naked in normal, modern clothes. She wouldn’t be expecting it and she would no doubt demand the whole story. He would tell her everything. Tell her that the stuff of demons was no longer in him; the fire of heaven burned it all away. He was Jem again, more Jem than he had expected to feel. But he would never fully be Jem again without Will. He didn’t know if he wanted to. 

 

—

 

He remembered the first time he dreamed again.

“Jem!” A voice called. A voice as familiar as his own.

_Will. Who else could it have been._

“James Carstairs! Where are you, you disloyal bastard?” 

_Here, Will. But where are you?_ “Over here.” Jem’s voice held the smile on his face. Though he was smiling, his chest was in a knot and his throat was tight. He wanted to cry. “Follow the witchlight.”

_Please, WIll. Follow the light. Follow it and come home._

 

_—_

 

Jem was mortal, which meant he would die. He would have to leave Tessa, one of the two people he loved more than anything in the world, again. But he knew she was strong. He knew she would carry on, remembering that one Carstairs boy, that one Herondale boy, the two of them, always together.

He had thought that the bond that tied himself to Will had been severed long ago, but one night, long after he had regained his mortality, he felt the cord tighten. He wanted to reach out for the sleeping Tessa beside him, but he was deep in the hands of sleep. 

_Will?_ He heard himself say. _Is that you, Will?_

He heard the strings of his violin dance over the water and felt the uncertainness of a boat beneath his feet. He was approaching a shore, an unfamiliar land that somehow felt like home. 

_If there is a life after this one, he said, let me meet you in it, James Carstairs._

The shore was approaching, approaching. Em could see a figure standing there waiting for him. He knew he would be there, he wasn’t at all surprised. 

_You hear that, James Carstairs? We are bound, you and I, over the divide of death, down through whatever generations may come. Forever._

He wondered if this was a dream. It couldn’t have been. It felt real, something even realer than a physical feeling.

The boat landed on the sand and he grabbed the hand that was held out to him.

_You hear that, James Carstairs?_

“I hear you, Will Herondale.”

They smiled.

 

 


End file.
